I left this story as a comment on another blog about a really bad experience with public transport, and thought I might as well share it here as well. Because, well, I take whatever ideas I can get. This is the story of my disastrous trip to London, the hobo capital of England.
It all started when a friend from America told me that he was coming to England and he was going to go from here to France on a ferry (I'm not too sure why he didn't just go to France) and he asked me if I wanted to go with him. I did. This trip was actually why I got my passport. I lost the one I got made up when I went on that ski trip.
Anyway, I booked my train ticket well in advance so it was cheap. You really have to do this. Really. Trains are stupidly expensive which is why no one uses them. Anyway, there was a train change involved, so in the morning I went down to the station complete with backpack and tickets, and boarded my train.
Not long after, when it came to the switchover, I discovered that I had actually MISSED MY NEXT TRAIN. I did this by catching the wrong train in the first place. Thankfully these were the days when I kept my phone on me, and topped up, so I gave my dad a call and he bought me a ticket to London. I think that ticket came close to, or passed, triple digits. I know that getting on the wrong train in the first place was pretty much all my fault, but it would have been nice for someone to check my ticket and inform me of my mistake.
Anyway, this meant that I came to London late, so it's no real surprise to note that when I got there, my friend was nowhere to be found. He had already left because he didn't think I was turning up. This meant I was stranded in London with barely any money. So again I called my dad, explained the situation, and he was nice enough to buy me another ticket, this time a ticket home. Well, to a station near home, there was nothing going directly to where I live at that time.
While I was at the other station, a group of chavs turned up in the car park. I can't think of a term to call chavs for foreign readers, but they're the people you see throwing stones at cars, drinking beer at all times of the day, and thinking they're tough because they're surrounded by their friends. I still thank whoever might be up there that they didn't notice me, that was the last thing I needed.
Eventually my dad turned up to pick me up, and I ended up safely at home, but my dad was over £200 out of pocket just because I messed up, and insisted on still going even though if I'd stopped to think I would have realised he would have already gone and left without me.
To be honest I still feel really bad about that. I intend to give him that money back, and the money that both of my parents spent on the ski trip.